The Virtue of Fluidity

THE PLEASURES OF THE DOOR
—Francis Ponge

Kings do not touch doors.

They know nothing of this pleasure: pushing before one gently or brusquely one of those large familiar panels, then turning back to replace it—holding a door in one's arms.

...The pleasure of grabbing the midriff of one of these tall obstacles to a room by its porcelain node; that short clinch during which movement stops, the eye widens, and the whole body adjusts to its new surrounding.

With a friendly hand one still holds on to it, before closing it decisively and shutting oneself in—which the click of the tight but well-oiled spring pleasantly confirms.

____________________

Pearl and Victor Selinsky write: N Magazine’s 2nd Saturday Art Show features their cover artists for the past year. Vic Selinsky is the featured artist for November, 2005. You are invited to attend the free opening reception on Saturday, April 8, from 5:30-8:30 p.m. There will be refreshments and entertainment. The exhibit will be held at the South Natomas Community Center, 2921 Truxel Rd., Sac. If you cannot make the opening, the work will still be exhibited there on Sunday from 12 noon to 4 p.m. Love to see you there.—Vic & Pearl

Tonight (Friday, 3/31) will be the Poems-For-All Exhibit Finale at HQ, 25th & R Sts., Sac, 8 pm, featuring readers Robert Roden, Michael Pulley, Barbara Noble, Gene Bloom, Mary Zeppa, Manny Gale, and Rebecca Costello, with readings of poems by William Wantling, d.a.levy, and Jack Micheline. Music by J. Greenberg and Joe Hill.
This will be your LAST CHANCE to see the Poems-For-All Fifth Anniversary exhibit.


THE PIGEON
—Francis Ponge

Grain-fed belly, come down over here,
Saintly gray pigeon belly...

The way a storm rains, walks on broad talons,
Floats over, takes over the lawn,
Where first you rebounded
With the charming cooings of the thunder.

Show us soon your rainbow throat...

Then fly away obliquely, in a great flapping of wings
that pull, pleat, or rent the silken cover of the clouds.

_________________________

THE FROG
—Francis Ponge

When little matchsticks of rain bounce off drenched fields, an amphibian dwarf, a maimed Ophelia, barely the size of a fist, sometimes hops under the poet's feet and flings herself into the next pond.

Let the nervous little thing run away. She has lovely legs. Her whole body is sheathed in waterproof skin. Hardly meat, her long muscles have an elegance neither fish nor fowl. But to escape one's fingers, the virtue of fluidity joins forces with her struggle for life. Goitrous, she starts panting... And that pounding heart, those wrinkled eyelids, that drooping mouth, move me to let her go.

(Today's poems were translated from the French by Beth Archer)

—Medusa

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)